


Don't Fuss Over Me

by Delightful_I_Am



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Alive Allison Argent, Alive Erica Reyes, Alive Vernon Boyd, Angst, Cancer, Gen, Hurt Stiles, M/M, Major Illness, Mentions of Cancer, Nice Peter, Peter Hale & Stiles Stilinski Friendship, Sick Stiles Stilinski
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-11-26
Updated: 2016-11-26
Packaged: 2018-09-02 03:02:13
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 9
Words: 14,964
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8649130
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Delightful_I_Am/pseuds/Delightful_I_Am
Summary: Stiles has a pretty big secret. Peter helps him keep it.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> I'm a sucker for hurt Stiles. I am also a sucker for Stiles and Peter being friends. This was inevitable, really. Have fun!  
> Okay, so this turned out to be soooo much bigger than I was anticipating, so I really really really hope you like it

Stiles looked around himself, it was dark and he appeared to be somewhere in the preserve. With no shoes on. Because of course. Allowing himself to indulge in a few choice curses, he fumbled through his pockets with trembling fingers, letting out a cry of triumph when he found his phone. At least something was going right tonight. His thumb hovered over his contacts as he debated with himself on who to call. He didn't want to call his dad; things had been going so well, it wouldn't be fair to worry him. Scott was with Allison tonight, which meant there was no way in hell he was interrupting whatever they were doing. He liked a certain amount of innocence when it came to his best friend's sex life. Lydia was out of town with Jackson, and she was way too smart for her own good sometimes, he didn't really want her putting things together just yet. Not if he could help it. Derek was... no. He couldn't call Derek. He wanted to, but he didn't think he could handle concern from Derek right now; he might lose it entirely. And of course if he called Derek, Isaac would go sticking his nose in. He sighed and tapped on another contact. The last person he wanted to call, really, but the only one he knew wouldn't try to make him talk about it. He brought the phone up to his ear just as it was picked up.

"Stiles, to what do I owe this unexpected pleasure?" Peter's voice was a purr on the other end of the connection.

"Peter... can you..." he sighed and dragged a hand down his face. "Look, I'm uh... I'm not... Could you... Do you think you could come get me or something?"

"A bit late for a booty call, don't you think?" There was amusement in his tone, but Stiles could tell it was feigned, covering up something that almost felt like concern.

"So not the time dude. Could you..." another sigh, "could you just like, track my phone and come get me?"

"I don't know, I was rather enjoying my night..."

"Please?" Stiles voice sounded pathetic to his own ears, and clearly it had had an effect on Peter as well, because he could hear him moving about through the phone. His voice when it came through again was clipped and cool.

"I'll be there in ten minutes."

Stiles sat down on the ground, resting his back against a tree and tucking his knees to his chest. He wrapped his arms around his legs and gripped tight to stop the shaking in his fingers. He rested his chin on his knees and willed the pain in his bones to go away.

 

***

 

The low hum of the car pulled some of the tension from Stiles' body as Peter drove them back towards civilisation. Stiles could practically taste Peter's curiosity, but for once he was remaining mercifully silent. He looked at Peter, contemplating telling him. He was suddenly struck with the urge to tell  _someone._ Someone other than his dad or Melissa. Even Scotty didn't know. He sighed and bit the inside of his cheek to keep from opening his mouth and blurting it out; he tasted copper on his tongue and had to suppress a hiss of pain. Peter's eyes cut over to him, one brow raised in a silent question. Stiles twisted his fingers in his lap, rolling the idea through his mind. He was fairly certain his heart was beating a sharp staccato in his chest, anxiety probably pouring out of him in waves. Hopefully it was drowning out the underlying pain that was always there.

"Far be it for me, of all people, to judge someone's nightly exploits..." Peter's voice was deafening in the quiet of the car, "... but it seems to me that your situation tonight was not one of your choosing."

"Why, anyone would think you  _care,_ creeperwolf." Stiles kept his tone light and sarcastic. "Careful, a guy might get ideas if you keep that up."

"Don't be obtuse Stiles. Of course I care." A smirk tilted the corner of his mouth up. "Who else would I have lively discussions with, if you were to wander off into the wilderness for good?"

Stiles snorted, an inelegant sound that had Peter huffing out a short laugh, his eyes holding steady on the road ahead, but a twinkle in them nonetheless. They were silent for a time; Stiles stared out the window, mentally cataloguing all the places he used to go as a child, before... well. Before a lot of things. Peter's fingers drummed on the steering wheel, an uncharacteristic move that had Stiles eyeing him carefully.

"So what excuse did you give Derek to take his baby for a test drive?"

"Of course I didn't tell him I was taking it." A grin stretched across his face. "Where would the fun be in that?"

Stiles hummed an agreement just as Peter pulled up outside his house. The windows were dark. The cruiser still gone from the driveway; the Sheriff was doing overnights for the next few weeks. He'd tried to protest, but Stiles had stopped him. Sometimes he needed the space. And the nightmares came regardless of whether someone was with him or not. Stiles had one foot out of the car when he was stopped by a careful hand on his wrist. He stared at it for a moment, trying to muster the energy to figure out if he should care or not. He raised his eyes and met Peter's.

"Stiles, if-"

"Thanks Peter." Stiles cut him off before he could say more, praying he let him bow out with his dignity intact. They looked at each other for a heartbeat. Two. Three. Slowly Stiles nodded and lifted Peter's hand away, refusing to acknowledge the way his own hand shook. Peter nodded back, and then he was out of the car and up the porch stairs. The car didn't pull away until after he had slipped inside, closing the door and resting his forehead against it, breathing deep. Tomorrow was sure to be interesting.


	2. Chapter 2

The pack was piled into Derek's loft when Stiles arrived; Isaac and Allison were teasing Scott about something, Erica and Boyd were lounging on the floor throwing pieces of popcorn at Derek where he was leaning against the wall, a look of carefully controlled indifference on his face. Stiles stood in the doorway and watched them all for a moment, feeling a fond smile tugging at his mouth. For a few scant seconds no one seemed to notice he was there, and he took the opportunity to bask in the happiness of his friends. At least until Peter came sweeping down the stairs, that damn eyebrow raised again.

"Ah, Stiles. There you are. Please tell me you brought your brain today. I don't think I can handle any more of these cretins in my house."

"These 'cretins' are your pack Peter," Derek shot a dark look at Peter, before moving over to Stiles, "and it's  _my_ house."

Peter scoffed at him and lowered himself gracefully to the armchair, throwing one leg over the side as he cast a critical eye over the room. Erica lobbed a piece of popcorn at him and she cackled when he flashed his eyes at her and growled. Derek stopped in front of Stiles and put a hand on his shoulder, squeezing lightly. He grinned when Stiles smiled crookedly up at him.

"Hey, did you sleep alright? You look a little tired." Derek brushed a gentle finger across Stiles' cheek as he spoke and Stiles tried not to lean into the touch.

"Oh yeah, you know. Nothing out of the ordinary. Just traipsed through the forest in the middle of the night before begging Peter to come pick me up."

Peter's head snapped up and his gaze bore into the side of Stiles' skull as he spoke. His eyes widened when he heard the skip in his heartbeat on the second half of Stiles' explanation, indicating that he had in fact  _not_ been doing just that. Stiles' eyes flicked over to him and he grinned; he'd learned how to both lie convincingly to the werewolves, and make the truth sound like a lie. It certainly came in handy at times like these. Peter gave him a shrewd look before tipping his head, clearly impressed.

"Should I be worried?" Derek's tone was playful and he dropped a kiss on Stiles' forehead.

"Oh yes, Derek. It's a common occurrence." Peter's voice dripped with condescension, "I fully intend to woo dear Stiles away from you at the first opportunity."

Derek snorted and tugged Stiles over to the couch, stepping over stray bits of popcorn. Stiles let himself be pulled down until he was tucked under Derek's arm. He leaned around and winked at Peter.

"In your dreams, creeperwolf."

"Menace." Peter threw a piece of popcorn at Stiles and Derek and slouched down further in the armchair, flinging an arm dramatically over his eyes and mumbling about  _teenagers and their ridiculous senses of humour._ Stiles smiled and leaned into Derek's side as the rest of the pack arranged themselves around the room, gearing up for a night of very un-supernatural movie watching. And as much as Peter complained about it, he'd never missed one. Stiles felt Peter's eyes on him all night, but he ignored him; he knew he needed to talk to him at some point, but he just wasn't quite ready.

 

***

 

Stiles stood in the bathroom, hands braced on the edge of the sink as he tried to keep his breathing even; not only did he not want to walk out flushed, he also needed to keep the werewolves downstairs from hearing anything off about his heartbeat. Derek was protective enough without having to deal with  _this_ as well. Stiles ran the cold water and held his wrists under the tap, biting back a moan at how good it felt on his hot skin. He flexed his fingers, frowning when they shook with the effort. Sighing heavily, he dropped his head, leaning on his elbows on the sink, watching the water trickle around his wrists. He was so focused on the flow of water he failed to hear the door opening quietly behind him.

"Penny for your thoughts?" Stiles jolted at the sound of Peter's voice, and would have slipped face first into the sink if a strong arm hadn't wrapped around his waist.

"Hands off the merchandise, uncle Creeper." His jab had no heat behind it, in fact he was fairly certain his voice shook as he spoke.

"I'm sure you'll forgive me in time."

Stiles felt himself being turned around and pushed gently down onto the lid of the toilet. He dropped his head into his hands and took a deep, somewhat shaky breath. He vaguely registered the sound of the tap turning off, and then Peter was kneeling down in front of him and placing a cool, damp cloth on the back of his neck. A moan slipped out and he clutched at Peter's arm to keep himself upright. Peter clicked his tongue and sighed.

"You could always tell me what's going on, you know." His voice was softer than Stiles had ever heard it. "As hard as it is to believe, I do know how to keep secrets that aren't my own."

"I wouldn't even know where to start." His voice definitely shook that time.

"Well, I've always found the beginning to be a good spot." The regular dry sarcasm was back in Peter's voice. "And don't worry, no one will hear us up here, and I'll be able to hear anybody coming up the stairs before they get the chance to hear anything you say."

"The beginning." Stiles sighed. "Yeah, probably a good idea."

He cast about for the right words, opening his mouth half a dozen times only to snap it shut and shake his head each time. Instead, he focused on his hand where it clutched weakly at Peter's arm. He focused on the feel of the cloth on his neck, no longer cool, but still damp. He focused on the reassuring weight of Peter's hand on his shoulder rubbing gentle circles, and the other hand steadying him at the waist. He ran a hand through his hair and looked up into Peter's steady gaze.

"Yeah okay." He nodded. "You remember when th- when the... the nogitsune made it look like, like I ha- like I had the same thing as my... as my mum?" Each word was an effort to get out, and he had to breathe deep for a few seconds to regain some composure. Peter nodded at him when he hesitated.

"Go on."

"Well, that was all complete bogus, just something th- something _it_ did to get inside my head." He swallowed, a lump seemed to be stuck in his throat. Maybe closing his eyes would help. "But uh... dad made me get checked over after... after everything, and it turns out that uhh... while my  _mind_ is fine... turns out I've got cancer. Pancreas. Stage four. Inoperable. Yay me."

Peter sucked a sharp breath and Stiles felt the prick of claws at his hip and shoulder. He barked out a sharp laugh and opened his eyes. Peter's were blazing ice blue.

"Classic Stiles, right? I survive all this supernatural crap, then my own body goes and quits on me." He blinked his eyes rapidly, apparently at some point he'd started crying. How embarrassing.

They sat like that for a while, just staring at each other; he wondered if the others were wondering where they were, but couldn't find it in himself to care all that much. He tipped his head forward and rested his forehead against Peter's. A gentle hand removed the cloth on his neck and then he found himself being gathered up by strong arms until Peter was leaning back against the bathtub and he was curled up in his lap. Stiles gripped the soft fabric of Peter's shirt and pressed his face into his neck, taking deep breaths and trying to hold back his tears. Peter made a noise like a low whine in the back of his throat and held on tighter, resting his cheek on the top of Stiles' head. After a while, Stiles started thinking they should really be getting back to the rest of the pack.

"We should probably head back out there." His voice was hoarse, and he had to swallow a couple of times to get rid of the tight feeling. "Do you want to go first, or should I?"

"You'd better go. Wouldn't want Derek to get the wrong idea about us."

"Honestly I'd rather that was what was going on." Stiles sighed and untangled himself from Peter, dropping a hand down to help him up.

"Why Stiles, I had no idea you felt that way about me." Peter was clearly trying for his usual leer, but his eyes were a bit too haunted for it to work.

"There's the creeper I know and loathe." Stiles splashed some water on his face and looked at himself in the mirror, trying to see if there was anything off about his appearance. He turned to ask Peter something, but he had stiffened, head cocked to the side.

"Derek's coming upstairs. Hold on, I have an idea."

Stiles waited tensely beside Peter, biting his lip and wringing his hands. He heard a step outside the bathroom and suddenly Peter was opening the bathroom door and tossing him firmly but gently out into the hall. He let out an indignant squawk and would have gone sprawling if he hadn't been thrown directly into Derek's chest. Derek automatically caught him, growling at the now closed bathroom door.

"Stiles? Why were you being thrown out of the bathroom?" Derek sounded confused and a little pissed. "And why do you smell like Peter?"

"Your creeper of an uncle has personal space issues." Stiles grumbled and shot a dirty look at the door, raising his voice, he continued, "and he really needs to learn to keep his hands to himself!"

Derek growled at the door again and they heard Peter cackling. Stiles thought he could hear a hint of hysteria creeping in on the edges of the laugh, but Derek seemed not to hear anything amiss. He tucked Stiles under his arm and walked them back toward the stairs muttering under his breath. Stiles just laughed and wrapped an arm around his waist, letting out a breath at the thought of getting another day of blissful ignorance for Derek.


	3. Chapter 3

A few weeks after telling Peter, Stiles was lying on his bed, staring at the ceiling and trying to decide if he'd be able to keep down some toast when his window opened, bringing with it a waft of hot air that had him groaning. Scott grimaced and tripped over the windowsill.

"Sorry dude!" He closed the window quickly, but the damage was done; it was an absolute furnace inside now.

"Scotty, brother mine, you know there is a perfectly good door downstairs." Stiles sat up, willing his arms to stop shaking. "I've seen you use it."

"Yeah I know, but I... well..." Scott grinned sheepishly and scratched the back of his head. "Yeah I have no excuse, it's just fun."

Stiles groaned, "Well if you're here, you might as well make yourself useful. Come over here and take some of my headache away."

Scott threw himself down on the bed beside Stiles and threaded a hand into his hair, wincing when he felt the pain running through his veins.

"Dude! Why didn't you call me or Derek or something? This is bad!"

"Oh you know me, Scotty," Stiles was a little breathless at the sudden disappearance of his pain, "I like to struggle along until even the meds don't work."

"Yeah but usually that just means you need to take a double dose of your Adderall, not waiting until you have a migraine that would knock out an elephant." Scott sighed and removed his hand, flexing his fingers. "That enough for now?"

"Yeah dude." Stiles slurred his words a little. "that's really good."

Scott watched Stiles close his eyes and relax back into his pillows, taking note of the dark circles under his eyes.

"Are you okay, man? You look like you haven't slept in a week."

"Hmm?" It took Stiles a second or two to process what Scott was saying, "Oh, yeah Scotty. I'm alright. Just... you know... haven't been sleeping so well since the whole n- nogitsune thing, you know?"

Scott seemed to take this at face value and Stiles tried not to breathe a sigh of relief; there was no way he was telling Scott he'd spent the night throwing his guts up because once again the pain had been too much for his body to handle.

"So did you come over for a reason?" Stiles grinned at Scott. "Or were you just trying to turn my room into a sauna?"

"Oh!" Scott sat up excitedly, "I totally had a reason for coming over!"

Stiles smiled and tucked his hands behind his head, listening to his friend talk about Allison, and something about going out on the weekend. He dropped off to sleep sometime around Scott waxing poetic about Allison's dimples, not that Scott noticed for a while.

 

***

 

Peter was the only one in the loft when Stiles went over one afternoon. Derek had taken the pack out to the preserve, and Stiles had for once willingly gone along with the 'you're a fragile human, Stiles, you'll just get hurt' ploy they always tried to pull. For once he didn't mind. Lydia was still out of town with Jackson, although they were due back the next day and Stiles was dreading seeing her. Allison was spending the day with her dad and Cora and Malia had left for South America the week before to spend a few weeks with a pack down there that Cora had met in the years after the fire. Stiles flung himself down on the couch beside Peter with a groan; today was a pain day, apparently.

"I can't believe I'm going to say this to you, creeperwolf, but come put your hands on my body and make me feel good." Peter chuckled and manoeuvred Stiles so that he was stretched out on top of him, one arm wrapped around his waist, the other hand tangled in his hair. Stiles sighed and went boneless at the sensation.

"You're getting worse, sweetheart. You're going to have to tell them soon."

"I know. I just-" Stiles broke off when a sob threatened to escape. He took a deep breath, "It's just... once I tell them... it becomes real, you know? And I can't- I _don't want_ to do that to him - them. I don't know if I'll be able to handle them all treating me like I'm made of glass." His voice broke on the last word and it dropped to a whisper. "I don't want to put Derek through this for any longer than I have to."

"I know. Believe me I know." Peter spoke with a gruffness to his voice that made Stiles think he was trying to hold back tears of his own. "But I also know Derek, and he will hate himself for not having known sooner."

"What am I gonna do, Peter?" His voice was small and broken. "I'm not ready to go yet. There's so much that I- there's so much I never got to do. So much I have t- have to make up for."

"Shh. We'll figure something out."

Stiles pressed his face into Peter's chest and let the tears spill over. Peter was still draining his pain and the resulting endorphin rush had Stiles' emotions finally taking the forefront. Peter just held him tighter, humming under his breath; a sad, lost sounding song that fit Stiles perfectly. He fell asleep to the steady beat of Peter's heart.

 

***

 

When Stiles woke up, feeling better than he had in a while, the first thing he noticed was the blanket tucked around him. The second was two voices hissing angrily at each other. He picked out Peter's petulant sounding complaints and Derek's barely controlled anger; resolving to keep still, he breathed slowly and evenly, and listened intently.

"-nt to know why Stiles is asleep on my couch, smelling like he's upset and in pain, with your scent all over him!" Derek was just barely quiet enough to be called a whisper

"I don't know, Derek. He came over complaining of some migraine or something." Stiles could just picture the dismissive hand gesture that would have accompanied that statement. "I took some pain and he fell asleep, so I put a blanket over him, that just happened to be one of mine. Honestly I thought you'd be  _pleased_ I was looking after your beloved."

"Don't patronise me, Peter. You had to walk past the linen closet  _and_ my bedroom to get to yours for that blanket. I don't know what you're trying to pull-"

"Oh honestly! The boy came in here, barely able to walk, and I helped him. I'm surprised he made it over here to be quite honest." Peter's tone had a definite edge to it now. "I  _thought_ you would appreciate this, at least on his behalf, but  _clearly_ no good deed goes unpunished here."

It was silent for a time, and Stiles could just imagine them both glaring at each other, and had to stifle a laugh. After several tense minutes, Derek exhaled loudly and his voice went quiet and tired.

"There's something he's not telling me." Stiles tensed. "And I just... I don't know what to do. He won't tell me  _anything._ I'm not even sure when he's telling the truth anymore. Has he... has he said anything to you? I know he's not sleeping as well as he should be... and I'm- I'm worried about him."

"I'm afraid I can't tell you anything, nephew." Peter sounded flippant, almost bored. "I haven't the foggiest what's going on with the boy."

Derek sighed, and Stiles took that as his cue to 'wake up'. He stretched and groaned, keeping his eyes shut when he heard quick footsteps make their way over to him. He felt a hand on his cheek and he opened his eyes, smiling softly up at Derek.

"Heeey there, sourwolf." Derek snorted at the sleepy voice. "Now that's a sight I could get used to waking up to."

"How you feeling?"

"Oh no, the eyebrows are concerned. Their power is too strong!" He grinned and placed his hand over Derek's leaning his face into the warmth.

"Want me to take you home?" Derek's eyes flicked over the back of the couch, and Stiles realised the sounds coming from the kitchen were the rest of the pack.

"No, don't worry about me." He sat up, using Derek's arm to steady himself. "I can get myself home."

Derek looked ready to persuade him, so he was preparing to have to force himself to look in control of his body when Peter's voice drifted over from the other side of the room.

"I'll take him. I have to talk to the Sheriff anyway." Derek growled quietly, a soft rumble deep in his chest.

"It's alright." Stiles ran a hand through Derek's hair, "He knows what'll happen if he doesn't keep his hands to himself."

Derek huffed a laugh and kissed the top of his head while Peter spluttered angrily about the injustice in the world. Stiles allowed Derek to help him up, determinedly refusing Peter's help until they were out of sight, the loft door closed behind them; only then did he lean his weight into Peter, trusting him to keep him upright long enough to get into the jeep. He sat in the passenger seat with his head resting on the cool glass, waiting for Peter to start the car. When nothing happened for a long moment, he opened his eyes and tipped his head toward the drivers seat, only to find Peter looking calmly back at him.

"I know." He sighed and rubbed his forehead with a trembling hand. "I know. It's gone on too long already, I suppose. Look, Lyds and Jackson are back tomorrow. I'll.. I'll tell them all then, okay?"

"What about Cora and Malia?"

"I don't know. You tell them. Call them or Skype them or... something." He was too tired to deal with this.

"Alright Stiles." Peter sighed and started the jeep. "I'll tell them this afternoon. I know Malia at least will want to try and get back here."

"Might not be a bad idea to have some other people besides you that know what's going on before I break it to the rest of them. Good thinking."

"It's been known to happen every now and then." The dry tone had Stiles laughing the first real laugh in days.


	4. Chapter 4

The Sheriff was sitting at the kitchen table when Peter carried Stiles inside, shutting the door gently with his foot. Stiles grinned weakly at his dad, waving him down when he attempted to stand up. He met Peter's eyes and slumped back down in his chair, nodding tiredly and dropping his head into his hands.

"Come on then, mischief. You could do with some more sleep." Stiles pouted at Peter, earning him a soft smile. 

"Join me when he's settled, Peter." The Sheriff sounded tired, and sad.

"Of course John, I'll be back in a minute."

"Uh I am  _right here_ guys!" Stiles glared at his father. "And I am totally capable of walking, creeperwolf."

Peter raised an eyebrow at him and lowered him to the floor, gesturing for Stiles to go ahead. They stared at each other, Stiles crossed him arms and narrowed his eyes, determined to keep his balance. Peter caught him just as his knees buckled.

"I hate you so much."

"Of course you do. But you can hate me whileI _help you_." John snorted at the fond patience in Peter's voice and watched him carry his son up the stairs.

There were sounds of tired complaining drifting down the stairs and Peter's calm voice rebutting every one of Stiles' arguments before they could be fully voiced. John sighed and waited for Peter to come back downstairs, contemplating the bottle of whiskey that was sitting in the back of the pantry. He decided on coffee instead, pouring two cups just as Peter came back into the kitchen. He placed both mugs on the table and dropped heavily onto a chair.

"How is he today?" John sounded defeated, shoulders drooping when Peter sighed and scrubbed a hand down his face.

"He hasn't got any energy. He's in pain." He trailed a finger around the rim of the coffee mug. "He's telling them tomorrow, Derek's starting to put things together."

"Well he's a smart kid. I told Stiles he wouldn't be able to keep this up forever."

"Of course Derek seems to think that I'm trying to steal the boy away from him." A wry grin settled on Peter's face. "I haven't done much to discourage that, of course."

"I almost wish that's what was happening." John looked up at Peter's laugh, confusion evident.

"I'm sorry John, it's just..." Peter's voice broke and he coughed to cover it up, "just sometimes you are so like your son. That's exactly what he said to me when he first told me."

"Jesus Peter."

 

***

 

Stiles' room was dark when Peter slipped in and headed for the laptop; no sense putting off calling Cora and Malia if they were going to have the time to fly back. He'd already booked them tickets. He booted up the computer, bringing up Stiles' Skype account and sending a video chat request. He turned to watch Stiles, face slack in sleep. He was still watching when Cora accepted the call with a cheery greeting that had Stiles groaning and shoving his head under his pillow.

"Stiles! Hi..." Cora trailed off when she saw Peter, "Peter... what are you doing calling from Stiles' account? Are you- are you in his bedroom?"

"Sweet niece, how lovely to see you." Peter tried to keep his tone light. "I'm well, thank you for asking. How are you and Malia?"

"Hi Peter." Cora sighed and rolled her eyes, looking so much like her brother Peter had to suppress a smile. "Now what are you doing in Stiles' bedroom?"

"Take it down an octave, please. You'll wake him up."

"Why is he asleep?" Of course she was suspicious.

"Is Malia with you?" Cora frowned at the sudden drop in Peter's normal attitude.

"Yeah of course," She turned and leaned back, allowing Malia to drop into frame beside her.

"What have you done now?"

"Straight to the point as always, my dear."

"Peter."

"Yes yes. Alright Cora." Peter sighed, turning his head to look at Stiles again, his sad eyes still perfectly visible to Cora and Malia. "There's something you should know."

"Okay now I'm getting worried, uncle Peter."

Peter sat for a minute, studying their faces through the screen, trying to find the words to say what needed to be said. A soft moan caught his attention and his eyes flashed blue as he swung around to check on Stiles, only to find him looking back with thinly veiled amusement on his face.

"You could always start at the beginning, creeperwolf." The joke fell flat with the obvious pain in Stiles' voice and Peter made a noise like a wounded animal.

"Stiles?" Cora's voice carried across the room, almost cold in its concern.

"Hang on a second, baby Hale. I need to borrow your uncle for a minute."

Peter launched himself off the chair, leaving Cora and Malia staring at a corner of Stiles' room while he knelt down beside the bed and ran a hand through Stiles' hair. They could hear them murmuring to each other, in what almost seemed like an argument, but Peter was resolutely keeping his voice just a bit too quiet for them to make out individual words. When he came back on screen, he was leading Stiles by the hand, bringing him down to sit on his lap in front of the computer. Cora growled at the sight of Peter's arm around Stiles' waist and Malia's eyes flashed, a savage look on her face.

"You'd better not be doing what I think you're doing!" Cora sounded furious. "What about Derek, Stiles? Does he know what's going on here?"

"Down Fido." Stiles sounded out of breath, but he still managed his usual level of sarcasm. "It's not what you think."

"As much as we might want that to be the case." Peter's voice was quiet, and he was looking at Stiles like he was waiting for something awful to happen.

"Stiles please tell me what's going on before I fly back there and kick your ass."

"Coyotes are scary when they're angry."

"Stiles!"

"Alright, alright, keep your tails on!" He looked up at Peter and smiled. "You wanna tell them, or should I?"

"I don't..." He broke off and swallowed hard. "You. I can- I don't think I can do it."

Stiles patted him on the cheek, not mentioning the pained whisper that was Peter's voice, or the slight shaking of his shoulders. He turned back to the screen and gave the girls what he hoped was a winning smile. Judging by their scared expressions, he didn't think he quite managed it. He took a deep breath and closed his eyes. When he opened them again, Peter was once again a steady presence at his back; he smiled softly and started to speak.

 

***

 

Stiles was back in his bed, but this time Peter was there with him, one arm around Stiles' shoulder and the laptop was sitting between them. Cora was silent on screen as she processed what Stiles had just told her. At first she'd thought they were joking, but she could only kid herself for so long. Malia had left, eyes flashing uncontrollably, a low growl ceaselessly slipping from behind her fangs; they could hear the muted sound of furniture being smashed around, and Peter was having a hard time disagreeing with her choice of action.

"So uhh... there's nothing you can  _do_ or anything... but like... if you wanted to..." Stiles trailed off, looking down and twisting his hands in his lap.

"Shut up Stiles, of course we're coming home. What do you take us for?" Cora's voice was a hairsbreadth away from breaking, and Stiles smiled.

"I take you for family, you dork." Cora whined and the sounds of cracking wood abruptly stopped. "But that doesn't mean I expect you to drop everything for me."

"I think you're underestimating your place in this pack, Stiles."

"Shut up Peter."

Malia crept back in the room, sitting beside Cora and tucking her knees up to her chest. She seemed calmer than before, but her eyes were still flashing intermittently. Stiles smiled at her and she grimaced back at him, poking her tongue out.

"Alright." Cora's voice was shaky, "Okay, well, we need to sort out flights, and-"

"No need." Peter cut her off before she could work herself up. "Check your emails. Your flight leaves in three hours, and there'll be a car waiting at the airport for you to bring you back to the loft. Call me when you land, and we'll make sure to get there after you. Hopefully your appearance will keep Derek calm."

"Good luck with that, Peter." Stiles was clearly amused. "I've got to tell him I'm dying. Calm is not a state we can hope for."

"You're not dying." Peter growled and tightened his grip on Stiles' shoulder.

"Whatever you say, creeperwolf."


	5. Chapter 5

Stiles was sitting in the jeep outside the loft, staring up at the building. As far as his days were going lately, he was feeling pretty good. Of course he hadn't yet told the people he loved that he was dying. He slumped down in his seat and studied his fingers; they were almost always shaking now, he had to tell them all before it was too late. He was startled out of his musings by the sharp sound of his phone ringing.

"Hey creeperwolf." He tried so hard to keep his tone light and happy. "How's my favourite zombie today?"

"Where are you?" Alright then. No pretending today.

"Outside. Just trying to work myself up enough to get out of the car." He glared at the building in front of him, as if it were the cause of all his problems.

"Do you need me to give you a hand?" Peter was talking low, evidently to avoid being overheard. "Is your father there?"

"No and no." Stiles took a deep breath and opened the car door. "I made him promise to stay away. I need to do this by myself."

"What about Melissa...?"

"Oh god no!" His voice was louder than he intended it to be and he winced, "No I mean, could you imagine if I walked in there with her? Scotty would flip and I'd never be able to get it out. No it's just me."

"I wouldn't call you _just_ anything, my dear."

"Stop it, you're making me blush. I'll be up in a minute."

He hung up without waiting for Peter to reply. Tucking his phone back into his pocket, he squared his shoulders and headed inside. For once he was grateful the elevator took so long; he had time to calm his breathing. The walk to the door of the loft seemed to take forever but eventually he made it, he paused with his hand on the door, took a deep breath and pulled it open. The whole pack was sprawled around the lounge room. Scott and Allison were entwined together on the armchair, Isaac leaning against their legs. Boyd and Erica were talking with Cora and Malia about South America; it seemed like they had managed to avoid explaining why they were back two weeks early. Lydia was arguing with Peter and Jackson was running his fingers through her hair, looking bored with everything. And Derek. Derek was watching his sister and cousin with a suspicious tilt to his head. Clearly he wasn't buying whatever story they'd told him. He looked over at the sound of the door rolling open and frowned, taking in Stiles' pained expression and generally dishevelled appearance.

"Hey guys. Cora, Malia... back so soon?" He thought he did a pretty good job of sounding unaffected.

"Jesus Stilinski, you look like shit." Jackson sneered, but there was a flicker of unease behind his eyes. He flinched when both Malia and Peter growled at him, turning wide eyes on them both.

"Down puppies. My honour is intact."

"Stiles, are you alright?" Derek made to move toward him, but Stiles flung a hand out to stop him. If Derek touched him, he was sure to break.

Trying to ignore the hurt in Derek's eyes, he looked around and caught Peter's gaze, staring at him for a long moment. Enough to have Derek looking between them, a dark expression clouding his features.

"What's going on here?" The words were practically spat out, and Derek's teeth looked sharper than usual. "Peter what have you done?"

"Why does everyone assume  _I've_ done something?"

"Oh god, you're not fucking him, are you Stilinski?" Jackson sounded disgusted with the very idea.

"Jackson I swear to- Can everyone just... sit down for a minute?" At the exhausted note in Stiles' voice everyone exchanged wary looks and sat down slowly, Peter made his way closer, slipping into a shadow somewhere behind Stiles. "Derek. Please?"

Derek looked set to protest, but a cautious hand on his arm stopped him. Cora had a firm grip on him, and she tugged him back to sit beside her, her eyes pleading with him. He sat and turned hurt eyes on Stiles. Stiles found himself unequal to the task of maintaining eye contact and cast about for something else to look at. He settled on the burn mark on the floor where Scott and Isaac had tried to set a firework off inside. He smiled at the memory and turned his head to look for Peter. A comforting hand on his shoulder had him visibly relaxing and a growl slipped from Derek. Stiles nodded and steeled himself, sitting down on the coffee table in the middle of the room.

"Okay. Uhh... how to do this?" His uncertainty was clearly not reassuring, if the way Derek's eyes flashed blue was anything to go by. "I'm alright, sourwolf, don't get your panties in a bunch."

"That was a lie." Scott's voice was quiet and confused. "You lied when you said you're alright. Why aren't you alright?"

"Ohh so many reasons Scotty. So many reasons." Peter's hand tightened on his shoulder and he nodded. "Yeah okay. Okay. Clearly everyone here is well versed on the... on the absolu- absolute shitstorm that was the.. th-."

"Take your time sweetheart." Peter's voice was quiet, but Derek still growled and half rose, only Cora and Malia's hands holding him back.

"God Peter I don't think I can do this." He dropped his head into his hands, his words ending on a sob.

Peter swept around and knelt in front of him, gentle hands cupping his face. Ignoring the snarling coming from both Scott and Derek, he rested their foreheads together and breathed deep.

"Breathe with me Stiles."

"I- I can't." Stiles pulled back, "I have to get out of here."

He extracted himself from Peter's grip and stumbled towards the door, barely able to see through the tears that had at some point started falling. He vaguely registered the sound of Derek launching himself at Peter, Cora and Malia yelling at him to stop and listen. Peter's voice, when it drifted after him, was clear and cold.

"Cora, Malia. Keep him in here while I go and get Stiles. I will not have him upsetting him."

" _I'm_ upsetting him?!" Derek's shouting was cut off when Peter closed the door, although Stiles had no illusions that the wolves couldn't still hear through the door.

Peter found him in a corner, knees tucked into his chest, tears running down his face.

"Oh Stiles."

"I can't do it, Peter." Stiles whispered into his hands, knowing it would be heard. "I can't do this to him."

Peter sat beside him and wrapped an arm around him. Stiles allowed himself to be pulled into Peter's side, body wilting under his touch. They sat for a moment.

"You don't have to tell them anything. You say the word, and we'll leave. I can deal with my nephew."

"I owe it to him. I owe it to them all." He choked out the words, they tasted thick on his tongue.

"You owe them nothing." Peter's voice was hard, and perhaps a bit louder than it needed to be. "You don't owe any of them anything. You have done so much for this pack. If anything, they owe it to you to hear you out, without interruptions, and without judgement."

Stiles pulled away and stood up, using the wall for support. Peter stayed on the ground, watching him with calm eyes.

"I haven't done what I came here to do. I haven't done  _half_ of what... of what I want to do." he was trying so hard not to cry anymore. "I just.. Why me? Why, after everything I've been through do I get  _this_ heaped on me too? I thought after th- after the n-nogitsune... I thought that was it, you know? I nearly killed my friends, but somehow,  _something_  saved them, and instead, I get  _this?_ It wasn't enough that my body was used to do  _awful_ things?"

His voice had risen as he spoke, arms waving about in such a typically  _Stiles_ fashion that Peter had to bite back tears of his own.

"I know it's not fair-"

"Not fair?  _Not fair?!"_ Peter winced at the venom in his words. "Not fair is Erica and Boyd nearly dying because some group of assholes decided to test us.  _Not fair_ is Allison nearly dying because  _my body_ tried to kill her.  _Not fair_ was you going insane and biting my best friend and dragging us both into this world! This is  _inside me_ Peter. It's in my organs, and in my  _bones!_ This goes so far beyond  _not fair!"_  

He dropped to his knees, head cradled in his hands as he rocked back and forth, keening his grief. Peter sighed and scooted forward, wrapping his arms around Stiles and holding him tight. He didn't know how long they sat like that, but at some point Peter started chuckling to himself. He looked up to see him practically biting his tongue to keep from outright laughing.

"I'm sorry but... Malia is ripping into Jackson and Lydia is doing nothing to stop it." Peter was almost wheezing. "The wolves at least could hear your little outburst and Cora was relaying it for those that don't have supernatural hearing. Lydia has apparently banned Jackson from her bed until further notice for being so insensitive."

"Scott?"

"The lovely miss Argent is attempting to soothe him, but he seems quite upset." Peter's voice had sobered and he fixed Stiles with a sad look. "Derek has retreated upstairs, and from the sound of things, I may need to purchase some new furniture."

"We should probably go back in there, shouldn't we?" Stiles sighed and wiped at his eyes. "Come on then creeperwolf, I might need some help getting up."

"You only ever need ask, dear boy."

Stiles snorted and allowed himself to be pulled up, leaning most of his weight on Peter's shoulders.


	6. Chapter 6

The loft was quiet when Stiles and Peter entered; Jackson was leaning against a wall in the corner, arms crossed and a petulant look on his face, but his eyes were guilty when they met Stiles'; Erica was clinging to Boyd's hand, eyes looking suspiciously moist; Isaac was sitting with Cora and Malia, keeping a wary eye on the top of the stairs; Lydia sat in the armchair, back ramrod straight, gripping the arms with stiff fingers. Scott and Allison were nowhere to be seen, but Peter indicated the kitchen with a nod of his head and Stiles was for once grateful his best friend wasn't in the room with him. Peter led him over to the sofa, gently pushing him down onto the soft cushions. Stiles tucked his feet up under him, thanking Peter when he draped a blanket over him; he always seemed to know when Stiles was starting to feel cold.

"Derek, if you think you can control yourself, it would be best for you to be down here with the rest of us." Peter spoke at a normal volume, so clearly Derek wasn't too far away. He scoffed at whatever Derek said in return and a few of the others winced.

"Stop being ridiculous and come be with Stiles." Cora's sharp voice cut through the air and Stiles smiled at her. Sometimes he was really glad she hadn't died in the back of that ambulance.

"You too Scotty." Stiles directed his comment to the kitchen, "I'm not gonna repeat this any more than I absolutely have to, so get your furry butts in here."

Scott tiptoed in, Allison right on his heels, and sat down on the couch opposite Stiles. Allison stopped in front of Stiles and knelt down so she was on his level; he smiled at her and ran his hand down her hair.

"You know I don't blame you for what the nogitsune did, Stiles." Her sweet voice was sad, and it had Stiles blinking back tears.

"I know Ally. Doesn't make it okay though." She kissed him on the cheek, then joined Scott on the couch.

Peter was leaning on the back of the sofa, one hand on the back of Stiles' neck, taking the edge off his ever-present pain. At a sound from upstairs, the wolves all stiffened in their seats, and even Jackson stood up a little straighter, not meeting anyone's eyes. Stiles shook his head at them all, a smile playing on his lips as Derek walked quietly down the stairs, eyes downcast and fists clenched.

"I might have overreacted..." Stiles snorted and grinned at Derek.

"Get over here, you possessive doofus." Derek shuffled forward and sat down on the other end of the sofa, keeping a small amount of distance between them. "Honestly, me leaving you for uncle creeper over there will sound like the best news ever after I tell you this."

Derek's fists clenched, and little red droplets spilled onto the sofa. Stiles made a distressed sound and reached over to place his hands on Derek's, gently prying them open. He shook his head and clicked his tongue, shooting Derek an annoyed glance.

"Here goes nothing, I guess." He took a deep breath and focused on Derek's hands, rather than look at anybody in the room. Peter's hand was still there on the back of his neck. "Alright. So... where was I? Right. The nogitsune. That rat bastard somehow messed up my scans to make it look like I had frontotemporal dementia, yeah? Except it was bullshit and my brain is fine. Everybody still with me?"

He looked up and everyone was nodding, confusion evident.

"Well... like I told Peter... my brain is fine. Working at full capacity. Nothing to worry about there right?" He had to stop and take a few deep breaths before he could continue. Derek's hands squeezed his gently. "So yeah. Brain is fine. My body... not so much. Turns out I'm sick. I don't know how  _long_ I've been sick, but the doctors say it's probably been a while. I've known for... three months? Give or take? Peter's known for about... four or five weeks? I'm a little fuzzy on timelines. I told Cora and Malia last night. It's why they came back."

"Told them what, Stiles?"

"What's wrong?"

"You'll get better right?"

Stiles sucked in a sharp breath when Derek, Lydia and Scott all spoke at the same time, tears pricking his eyes. He cleared his throat and closed his eyes, suddenly feeling completely overwhelmed. Only Peter's steadying hand kept him from falling down. He patted Peter's hand and felt a brush of lips in his hair in return.

"Okay. So I'm sick. Like... really sick. I uh... I've got-" He broke off, unable to keep going. "Peter, can you...?"

"Of course." Peter's voice was rough and his hand tightened on Stiles' neck briefly. When he spoke next, all emotion had left, as if he were reading a grocery list, "Stiles has pancreatic cancer. Stage four. Inoperable. It's spread to his bones, his liver. And no Scott. He's not going to get better."

The shocked gasps and pained cries were almost too much for Stiles to bear and he hunched in on himself, hands still gripping Derek's like a lifeline. He drifted for a while, tuning out the noise around him, focused entirely on the feel of Derek's hands, and Peter's touch on his neck. Eventually he realised that Derek was the only person not speaking and he raised his eyes, dreading what he would see. It was worse than he'd feared. Derek was completely still; his face blank and his eyes distant.

"Don't check out on me yet, sourwolf." Everyone quieted when he spoke, "I'm not going anywhere, okay? I'm just gonna be a little slow and a lot sore."

"What about treatments or... or chemo... or or...  _something._ " Scott sounded panicked and it broke Stiles' heart.

"Oh Scotty. The only thing that'd do is drag it out. I'm too tired for that."

"So you're giving up?!"

"Don't be like that Catwoman."

"The five year survival rate for metastasised pancreatic cancer that can't be operated on is anywhere from one to four percent." Lydia's voice was crisp and brittle, and Stiles loved her more than ever in that moment. "From time of diagnosis, the median life expectancy is three and a half months."

"Oh Lyds." Her name was a whisper on his tongue.

"So you're trying to tell me you might only have... what... two weeks to live?! And you only told us now?! What would have happened if Derek hadn't got all jealous of you and Peter? Would you have told us  _at all?!_ "

"Scotty, don't-"

"No Stiles,  _you_ don't!"

Scott stood up and stormed out of the loft, eyes blazing, tears running unchecked down his face. Allison ran after him, choking back her own tears, stopping only long enough to grab Isaac by the hand and send a look of such sadness to Stiles that he had to look away. Jackson had picked Lydia up, cradling her against his chest as she sobbed into his neck; he stared at Stiles for a long moment before turning and carrying Lydia up the stairs, beckoning Erica and Boyd as he passed them. Soon it was just Cora, Malia, and Peter in the room with him and Derek. Derek, who still hadn't moved, or even blinked.

 

***

 

"I think he's in shock."

_"Malia!"_

"What? He looks like a kanima dosed him." Stiles almost smiled at the sound of Cora and Malia bickering in the background. Almost.

"Come on Derek. Give us a sign of life in there." When still nothing happened, Stiles turned a worried look on Peter. "Do something."

Peter pursed his lips and stared at Derek, turning ideas over in his mind before he settled on one that had the best possibility of working. He cursed under his breath and nodded at Stiles.

"Cora, come and get Stiles away from us. I'm about to do something very stupid, and I don't want him getting hurt." He waited patiently while Cora scooped Stiles up off the couch, blanket and all, and moved to the other side of the room, setting him down and shielding him with her body. He motioned Malia over to him and swore quietly.

"I'd really appreciate it if you didn't kill me, Derek." With no more warning than that, he launched himself at Derek with a roar, shifting in mid air and driving his claws into Derek's arms.

The effect was instantaneous; Derek roared back and pushed Peter off with a solid swipe across his chest that he only just managed to dodge. Malia jumped in between them and tried to hold Derek back, giving Peter time to regain his feet; Derek just threw Malia aside like she weighed nothing, and lunged at Peter again. Malia hit a wall with a crash and lay still, dazed. Cora whimpered as she watched her brother and her uncle fighting, their roars echoing around the large room. Footsteps thundered down the stairs and Jackson and Boyd appeared, wolfed out, eyes blazing blue and gold. Peter warned them to stay back, and while he was distracted, Derek managed to get his claws in his gut. Stiles cried out and tried to push past Cora, but she turned and snarled at him.

"Let me go, Cora! He's going to kill him!"

"I'm not letting you go in there and get hurt!"

"I'm already dying, Cora!" He felt like he'd just kicked a puppy. "He won't hurt me."

She stared at him, but a pained noise from Peter that sounded like at least one lung was punctured had her nodding and stepping aside. Stiles put a hand on her cheek, smiling at her, before he threw himself forward with more energy than he thought he had, sliding in front of Peter just as Derek lunged again. It was almost like time slowed for a moment, Stiles could perfectly see the exact second Derek realised Stiles had stepped in front of him; could see the way he twisted aside and pulled back to avoid crashing into him. For the space of several heartbeats, the room was silent. Nobody even dared breathe. Derek had come to a stop right in front of Stiles, claws scant inches from his skin; Peter was wheezing brokenly behind Stiles. Stiles' knees buckled and Derek caught him just before he collapsed, claws and fangs gone as they clung to each other.

"Oh don't mind me." Peter coughed behind them, somehow still managing to sound bored even as he bled all over the floor. "I'll just die quietly. Carry on."

There was an edge of hysteria in Stiles' laugh as he wiped at his eyes and threw a cushion behind him, a pained moan telling him he'd hit his mark.


	7. Chapter 7

In the week since Stiles had told the pack about... everything, and after Scott had calmed down with the help of Isaac, Allison, a stern talking to from mama McCall, and one very long night of bonding in the form of Scott and Stiles hugging and crying on each other, Stiles' body seemed to almost give up on itself. It was as if the keeping of such a big secret had been sustaining him, and now that it was out in the open, he no longer felt the need to hide his worsening condition. He spent most of his time at the loft, curled up on the couch with various members of the pack around him at all times, and always accompanied by Peter and Derek. Everyone had been surprised at Peter's dedication, now that everyone knew, surely he could go back to ignoring the pack, as was his wont. Jackson had nursed a broken arm for several hours after he made the mistake of telling Peter just that. No one questioned him again. Any moment Peter wasn't with Stiles, usually at night because Derek refused to leave his side even in sleep, and having both of them there would have been overkill, he spent with Lydia; researching anything and everything they could find that was even remotely related to Stiles' illness. They were looking for anything, both mundane and supernatural, that could be used to help. Stiles drifted in and out of consciousness sometimes, and he caught snippets of their conversations.

"-od's sake Peter, we're  _not raising a demon!"_

"It's no worse than your idea to go into  _faer-"_

 

"Cryogenics isn't a viable option, Isaac, if you can't be helpfu-"

 

"... no guarantee the bite would even take, it might just kill him fast-"

"We have to do  _something!"_

"Wow Scott, I hadn't thought of that.  _Something. Of course!"_

"Not helping Lydia."

"I know. I'm sorry. What did Deaton say about..."

 

Some days were better than others, and he managed to stay awake for most of the day, enjoying his friends and trying not to think about every dead end they managed to hit. Peter had stopped trying to convince him they were close after Stiles yelled at him for getting everyone else's hopes up. He'd then spent the next hour apologising for yelling. On the good days he was almost like his old self, making jokes and teasing Lydia, complaining about Jackson and Isaac. It seemed to be a fifty-fifty chance on if it was going to be a good day. The bad days were awful for everyone involved. When he was so full of pain that even with the wolves switching off, they could barely keep up with the agony ripping through his body. Those were days spent screaming and crying, half the time spent bent over the toilet or sink, the rest of the time he would barely be able to stay awake. They were nearing the end of the second week since he'd told them all when Lydia came sprinting in, waving a piece of paper over her head and hissing for Peter to follow her. Neither of them were seen for several days after that, and Stiles had a string of bad days. Everyone worried that he wouldn't last much longer, but Scott just set his jaw and said that no one was as strong as Stiles. If anyone could hang on for a miracle, it was him.

 

***

 

Today was a good day. Stiles had slept through the night, with a minimum of nightmares, and it was two weeks past his expected expiration date. Of course he didn't say that last part where anyone else could hear him, he couldn't stand the hurt puppy looks when he acted cavalier about the fact that he was dying. He was sitting in his own lounge for once; Derek curled up with him, as ever, and his dad at the table with a bunch of case files spread out around him. The rest of the pack was scattered about the house, the only ones missing were Lydia and Peter, and he tried not to resent Peter too much for disappearing. If any of them needed a break... well, it was Derek that deserved one to be fair, he hadn't left Stiles' side since he'd found out... but Peter was definitely a close second. Scott had offered to do for Stiles what Derek had done for Cora but Stiles had told him not to be stupid. The pack needed an alpha and he wasn't going to let Scott throw that away for him when it might not even work. Jackson had quietly maintained that the pack needed a Stiles too, and that had put an end to things.

He was lying with his head on Derek's lap, Erica curled up at his feet, when the door burst open and Lydia and Peter swept inside. Derek helped him sit up properly and he looked at them both; they were practically vibrating with the need to talk.

"Alright creeperwolf. What have you been up to?"

"We've done it. We've figured it out." It was Lydia that answered and she was breathless in her excitement.

"Well Lyds, I could have told you that Darth Vader was Luke's father." Stiles was grinning at her. "You didn't have to take my favourite zombie away just to figure that out."

"I'm not even going to dignify that with an answer, Stiles. Now shut up and listen."

"Oh yes ma'am!"

Derek shook his head at Stiles and clapped a hand over his mouth. The pack had all come in to the lounge while Lydia was talking and there was a tense expectation hanging in the air. Stiles tried not to get his hopes up.

"Alright, you know we've been looking into old druid rituals, with the help of Deaton, to see if there was anything about major illnesses being cured or even anything that could be misinterpreted the right way." everyone nodded, some more confused than other and Lydia pushed on. "Well, after coming up with absolutely nothing of use, and even eliminating some other theories we were going to try as backups to the backups... even the bite won't help this, Scott, sorry... we had nothing. Everything that seemed like it might work always  _always_ had some exception that of course, applied to Stiles."

"Not really reassuring, Lyds." It was muffled due to Derek's hand still over his mouth, but Stiles thought he got his point across all the same.

"Hush you.  _Anyway,_ Peter had the rather remarkable idea to try looking at spells and rituals that had all, without fail, been spectacular disasters every time someone had even tried to attempt them."

"And?" The Sheriff's voice was tense, and cautiously hopeful.

"And..." Peter continued where Lydia had left off, "... we found one that seemed familiar for some reason. Of course the translation took some time, even I have my limits, I must admit, and we thought we were at another dead end. Until we translated one word in particular."

He looked at Stiles, one hand on Lydia's wrist to keep her from going on. He wanted Stiles to figure it out himself. The bastard. So Stiles stared right back at him, trying to think the way Peter thought. What word, by itself, would be enough to convince the two smartest people he knew that they would be able to cure his cancer? He almost felt tempted to start twenty questions.  _Animal, vegetable, or mineral?_ He snorted and closed his eyes, muttering under his breath.

"Focus. One word. What word could mean enou-  _vegetable._ " He opened his eyes to find Peter smiling at him. "You've got to be fucking kidding me."

"I told you he'd figure it out."

"Yes well done, Peter."

"Stiles, what is it?" Derek was hanging on to his composure by the thinnest of threads.

"The fucking Nemeton."


	8. Chapter 8

Of course it was the Nemeton. Everything else revolved around the god forsaken tree stump. Why wouldn't it hold the key to curing him? Lydia and Peter had gone on to explain that the sacrifices made by Stiles, Scott, and Allison had done more than open a door in their minds, it had created a link to the Nemeton; a two-way path that could be travelled, but only in the direst of circumstances, and only by someone not only entirely human, but who had been touched by the supernatural world and changed forever. It almost seemed too perfect. Like it was made specifically for Stiles. None other in the pack fit the circumstances. Scott was not human, and Allison wasn't so much touched by the supernatural as she was raised in it, even when she didn't know it existed. It had never changed her, it was a part of her from the moment she was born. But  _Stiles?_ He was completely human. 147 pounds of fragile skin and breakable bones that had been chewed up by the supernatural, and spat back out, physically the same as when he went in, but with a mark on his psyche that was never meant to be there.

The catch, because of course there was a catch, was that not only did the ritual have to be done on a full moon which was still another week and a half away -a cliche if ever there was one- but that it also required a sacrifice equal to what was being asked. Typical. In order to save his life, Stiles had to die. Again. Needless to say, no one was particularly thrilled with this plan, but Deaton had assured them that this kind of sacrifice wouldn't result in the same door being opened in Stiles' mind, but it would make the link to the Nemeton unbreakable. If the tree died, Stiles would die. For good. And vice versa, which meant that the Nemeton, which was apparently somewhat sentient, would do everything in its power to keep Stiles alive, as long as he did the same.

"So basically what you're saying is I have to off myself on the psychotic tree stump, commune with nature for a bit, pull an uncle creeper resurrection deal, and then turn tree warrior and protect the forest to stay alive?"

"I wouldn't put it so crudely, Stiles, but yes. That is essentially what needs to happen." Lydia sounded completely fed up with Stiles' humour, and he was a little offended. He thought he'd summed that up pretty well.

"And we have a week and a half before the next full moon." Stiles nodded to himself. "Well... let's hope I make it that far."

"None of that, kid. You'll make it." The Sheriff's voice was rough, but there was a firmness to it that had been missing the last few weeks.

"Course I will pops. You're not getting rid of me yet."

None of the werewolves let slip they'd heard Stiles' heart skip a beat; this was one time where lying to the Sheriff was the best course. At least until they could convince Stiles it was going to work.

 

The house had an air of celebration about it that night; Scott was smiling as he told his mother what had happened when she came over after her shift, she'd cried and hugged Stiles so hard his bones had creaked. Erica and Malia started a game of spin the bottle, and somehow, everyone managed to spin Stiles at least once, even though he had refused to play the game. Melissa and the Sheriff disappeared out back to give the kids space without threat of parents ruining the fun. And so the Sheriff could cry into Melissa's shoulder. Stiles found himself squeezed between Derek and Peter, and judging by how lightheaded he felt, they were both taking as much pain as they could manage. He tried to stop them, but he gave up without putting up too much of a fuss; he felt too good to want the pain to come back again so soon. He fully intended to stay up with the rest of the pack, but before long, he found himself drifting off to sleep. He felt Derek lift him up off the couch and warn the others to keep it down.

"You too creeper. Don't think you're getting away from me that easy." Stiles was slurring a little in his daze, "Come on. Here boy."

"Insolent child." Peter's tone couldn't be called anything other than fond as he followed them up the stairs.

Stiles got into bed, right in the middle, and pulled both Derek and Peter down with him, one on either side; it was a tight fit, but he was determined. He curled into Derek's chest, resting his forehead in the hollow of his throat, with Peter a warm line at his back. He sighed, content for the first time in a long time. Peter started humming, trailing his fingers up and down Stiles' back in a light massage that was soothing him almost as much as the sound of Derek's steady heartbeat. He fell asleep like that and slept through the night, nightmare free.

 

***

 

In true Beacon Hills fashion, the week leading up to the full moon was a string of bad days. Not only was Stiles in and out of consciousness, but there was a pack of omegas causing havoc on the edges of the town, and there was a pixie infestation in the middle of the preserve. The first threat was dealt with by Erica, Boyd, Isaac, and Scott, and a fair amount of broken bones on the omegas parts; the second was solved by Lydia promising the pixies as many 'pretty baubles' as they could carry if they left the town and didn't come back. There was no quick fix for Stiles, however, and more than once, he was convinced he wouldn't make it another hour, let alone til the full moon. He stopped eating two days before the full moon, and stopped being able to drink water the day before. It was a tense twenty four hours while they waited for the moon to rise.

They were at the Nemeton, the moon was due to rise in half an hour, and Stiles barely had the strength to keep his eyes open. He was sitting in Derek's lap, weak hands loosely clasped in his shirt, his breath was coming in short gasps and each hitch in his heartbeat was like a dagger to the wolves. He was attempting to hum a song, but he couldn't sustain it for long.

"What are you singing?" Derek's voice was a whisper in his ear. He laughed, a wheezing sound, and started to sing out loud.

"If - you - go - into - the woods - today - you're - su-sure - of a - big... a big surprise." Each word was punctuated by a rattling gasp.

"Really? Teddy Bear Picnic?" Derek's laugh rumbled through his chest and straight through Stiles' body. "You're ridiculous."

"I - fi-figured - it was - appro-appropriate." He lifted his head and looked into Derek's eyes. "Although - you're - much - sc-scarier - than - than bears."

"We're cuddlier too." Stiles reached a trembling hand out and Peter clasped it gently, massaging the sore bones. "Although personally, I'm not a big fan of picnics."

"Ty-typical. I bet - you've - never - be-been - camping - in your - in your - life."

Peter was saved from having to answer by Lydia coming up to them.

"It's time. We need to get him on the Nemeton." She ran a hand through Stiles' hair. "Come on you. Time to commune with the psychotic tree."

Peter picked him up, long enough for Derek to stand properly, then handed him back over, brushing a kiss over his forehead before walking into the trees. He didn't want to watch too closely. Each member of the pack came up and whispered to him, or touched him in some way. Even Jackson rested their foreheads together for a moment.

"You'd better come back, Stilinski. Or else." Stiles gave a weak smile and nodded, tapping his fingers on Jackson's cheek.

Scott spent a long minute holding Stiles' hand and staring into his eyes. They didn't say anything; they'd long ago perfected the art of the silent conversation. it came in handy at times like these. Melissa cried and kissed his cheeks before allowing Allison to lead her away. It was hardest with his dad. They looked at each other, resolutely not crying.

"It's - o-okay - pops. It - a-aint - m- my- my - time."

"You're damn right it's not, kid. You're not going before me, you hear me?"

"Y-yes - s-sir."

Scott threw himself into the Sheriff's arms as soon as he left Stiles; tears streaming down his face. By the time they'd composed themselves, Erica was burying her face in Boyd's shirt and Cora and Malia had followed Peter into the trees. Derek knelt down in front of the Nemeton and placed Stiles gently on the stump. They held each other close and just breathed for a minute.

"You-you'd - better - b-be - waiting - when I - when - I get - b-back - s-sourwolf."

"Wild horses couldn't keep me away." 

Lydia came up to them, a silver dagger in her hand. She grimaced as she handed it to Stiles; clearly this was not her favourite part of the ritual.

"Blood has to be spilled, Stiles. Once we're out of the way, I'll close the mountain ash circle." Her lip quivered, "Once it's closed, you're on your own. If you're not back by dawn..."

"Back - b-by - dawn - or - d-dead - for - realsies. Go-gotcha." He smiled at them both. "Get - out - of - h-here. Let's - get - th-this - show - on the - r-road."

Lydia kissed him on the cheek and stepped back, pulling Derek with her. They stepped past the ring of ash and she sprinkled the last of it to close the circle. Stiles held the silver knife in his hand and wondered how he was going to find the strength to use it. He could barely grip it. He looked up at his pack, his family, and smiled. There was his strength. He turned back to the Nemeton, sending it a glare before hefting the dagger until it felt comfortable. He might not have the strength to drag it across his skin, but he had enough to fall. He stood on shaky legs, using the tree stump to keep his balance, and placed the dagger against his chest. He closed his eyes, and fell.


	9. Chapter 9

Derek's heart stopped when Stiles fell forward and the scent of blood permeated the air; it took everything in him to keep still. Around the clearing, gasps and cries rang out, and from somewhere in the trees, a heartbroken howl. The pack settled down to wait for dawn. Derek found himself beside Isaac, and he pulled the teenager into a hug, not quite able to watch alone. After a moment he felt a warmth at his back, and Cora wrapped her arms around his waist, resting her chin on his shoulders. Malia curled up in front of them, her eyes never leaving Stiles. One by one, the rest of the pack crowded close, each member touching at least two others. The Sheriff and Melissa ended up on Isaac's other side, wedged between him and Scott. The only person not huddled close was Peter, but Derek could feel him watching from the tree line. It was going to be a long night.

 

***

 

Stiles woke with a gasp. He seemed to be lying on the ground at the base of a very large tree. He looked down at his chest, expecting to see the dagger still lodged there, but was pleasantly surprised to see nothing but smooth skin. Wait a second.

"Argh! Why am I  _naked?"_ He stood up, looking around to make sure no one was watching. "Really? You couldn't have given me clothes? Honeysuckle and daisies, sure no problem, but clothes are  _way_ too hard."

He looked around again, wishing for clothes. Just when he was wondering if the tree was purely fucking with him, he spied a pile of clothes hidden in a hollow in the tree. Breathing out a curse, he scrambled over to the tree and thrust his arm inside the hole, dragging the clothes out. He pulled on the jeans and stopped to look around. He thought he'd heard something; like a voice. Laughter. When nothing happened, he shrugged and slid the shirt on, marvelling at the soft texture. He turned a critical eye on the tree, walking around it to take a good look at it.

"Okay... I'm gonna go out on a limb here and-" He broke off laughing, "Oh my god. On a limb! Because you're a tree! Oh man, I'm  _hilarious!_ If that doesn't convince you I'm worth saving, I don't know what will." He sobered after a long moment and took a deep breath. "Okay. I'm guessing you're the Nemeton. Or what the Nemeton  _used_ to be, anyway. You're much less creepy like this, I have to say. I'd probably hang out with you a lot more if you looked like this. Oh, uh... sorry. I mean, you're perfectly fine as a stump and all, but, I suppose you feel a bit sad? I've just always been weirded out by you. So... I know I can't bring you back to this, but I could definitely keep you safe. You just have to help me out."

He waited, not really expecting much. A breeze floated through the clearing, and Stiles felt like he could almost sense amusement in the air. He felt a tug in his chest, accompanied by a feeling that was almost like a question. It made him realise that he was actually breathing normally. In fact, he felt better than he had in years. He'd almost forgotten what it felt like to be healthy.

"Oh man, thank you so much. This is... this is better than I expected, to be honest." He scratched the back of his head. "I mean, don't get me wrong, you've got the whole, all powerful magical being shtick down, but uh... I guess I'd sort of lost hope a bit? I'm honestly surprised I lived long enough to see you. Lydia said we'd created a link with you. A pathway. I wonder... just how much of it was you keeping me alive, and how much of it was me? Can't complain, really. So yeah... thanks."

Another breeze curled around him, happiness swelling in his chest. He cocked his head to the side and studied the tree. He took in the gnarled bark; he could almost make out a face if he squinted. He took a breath and reached a hand out, hovering over where the cheek would be. If that were indeed a face. He shrugged and pressed his palm against the cool bark.

"Oh  _there_ you are!"

_There I am._

"Uh... thanks again. This might sound funny, but, you sound exactly how I would expect a tree to sound. But I don't really think I've ever thought about it before. When I try to think about how a tree would sound, I can't come up with anything, but then you speak, and it's like. Ah! That's how it should sound."

_I am of course nothing more or less than I should be, so your explanation is certainly sound._

Stiles thought about that for a moment. "So... what can I do for you? I'll help in any way I can, I just... I have to go back. I'm not ready to be done yet."

_Of course. I always intended to help, but there was only so much I could do. I am not what I once was._

"Well... you cured me of my sickness... what do you say I cure you of yours? Would you show me you? As you are now?"

_I will. You won't be able to communicate with me, but I feel you won't need to._

Stiles stepped back, dropping his hand from the tree and watched as it seemed to shrink in on itself, the bark fading and the leaves falling, until it was the Nemeton as he knew it. He ran a hand over the top of the stump and hummed. There was certainly a sickness in the tree, but he wasn't sure how to start. He knew what he wanted to happen; he wanted it to look as it should. Tall and majestic, covered in vines and full of life. He sat on the ground in front of the stump and lightly traced the grain of the wood with his fingertips. He could almost feel the life of the tree. A little spark of-

"That's it! A spark!" He jumped up and danced around the Nemeton. "Stiles you're a genius! A spark! Now what did Deaton say? Something about believing... Okay. Okay! If anyone can believe at this point, it's me. I'm literally the walking embodiment of belief right now."

He sat in front of the stump again and placed both hands on the rough bark. He closed his eyes and searched inside himself for that little spark, that centre of warmth in the core of his being. He thought of his dad's face, and Scotty's laugh; Peter's dry wit and Lydia's unrivalled brilliance; Erica's fierceness and Boyd's steady stoicism; Allison's sweet calm and Melissa's gentle patience; Cora and Malia's desire to belong; even Jackson's particular brand of asshole. All these things helped shape who he was and what he loved; what he yearned to go back to. A warmth tingled in his fingertips, but it felt like something was missing. He frowned and cast his mind further inward. Oh. Of course.

He thought of feeling lost. Of the struggle to find his way in this strange world that was thrust upon him; of every broken bone and split lip; of the time he was lost in his own mind, trapped by the trickster spirit; of the sometimes fierce desire to turn on everything that had ever hurt him and his and tear it apart. This was the truth of it. He needed to embrace both. Light and shadow, good and evil, love and hate. All two sides of the same coin; you cannot have one without the other. The warmth in his fingertips was a scorching heat now, pulsing with each beat of his heart. He pressed his palms more firmly against the tree, and he  _willed_ it to grow. Willed it to return to its former state. To the way it should be.

A warm breeze swirled around him and a light burst in his mind; the link to the Nemeton reached its peak and he fell. 

 

***

 

Dawn was growing closer and still no sign of life from the circle in front of them. Peter had long since joined the group huddled at the edge of the mountain ash, though he was still a little away from everyone else. He looked up when Derek sat beside him.

"Well nephew, I must say... you sure know how to pick them." He turned his eyes back to Stiles' body.

Derek hummed an agreement and hugged his knees. "I don't think I ever said thank you."

"Thank me for what?" Peter seemed uncomfortable, "I might still steal him away, you know."

"You looked after him when I couldn't. I don't think I could ever repay you for that."

"Oh Derek." Peter's voice was sad. "You owe me nothing. I still have so much to make up for..."

"Still... thank you."

Peter opened his mouth to reply, but he snapped it shut. There was a light coming from the centre of the Nemeton. He stood up and took a step forward before he remembered the mountain ash; he growled, getting the attention of the rest of the pack. They all looked toward the Nemeton; the light was definitely getting brighter, and it looked like the stump was  _moving._ They all stood, awestruck, as the tree grew; fresh buds started sprouting, growing larger as the trunk surged upwards. The pack gasped when Stiles was pulled in by the tree, the tree that was now rapidly shooting towards the lightening sky. The light that had been shining from the centre of the Nemeton now pulsed out, forcing those watching to shield their eyes. By the time the light died down, the tree had finished growing; it was tall, vines trailed up the trunk and around the branches. There was a swathe of wildflowers around the base, and it seemed as if the tree sighed. Nestled amongst the flowers was Stiles. Still and silent, no heartbeat could be heard. Derek made to move forward, but Lydia put a hand around his arm.

"It's not sunrise yet, Derek. He's still got time."

The pack waited, breaths held. Just as the sun slipped over the horizon, a warm breeze whistled through the clearing and a loud gasping breath could be heard. Stiles coughed and sat up, the dagger still in his chest. He looked down at it, seemingly unconcerned; he pulled himself up using the tree and braced himself on the trunk. He laughed.

"Had to go with the dramatic, I see." He shook his head and pulled the dagger out. "Couldn't go with an understated resurrection, could you? You just had to be ostentatious about it."

He paused as if he was listening to something only he could hear, then waved a hand dismissively at the tree.

"Yeah yeah, I hear ya. Life bond yadda yadda. Jeez. You know, for a tree you can be really uptight."

Derek sucked in a sharp breath and Stiles' head snapped towards him, a delighted smile breaking across his face. He held up a hand, signalling them all to wait, and turned back to the tree.

"Yes.  _Yes!_ Okay I get it. You know I already have a dad, right? Also, go easy on the info overload, would you. You're inside my head. I know what you know, and vice versa. Now shush. I have a pack to get back to." He turned away from the tree and took a step, only to find a vine snaking around his waist. He groaned and slumped forward. "Oh my  _god!_ I'll come back, okay? Yes you're important to me too. Hey, did I or did I not make you pretty again? A little gratitude goes a long way, mystical sentient tree or no."

The vine slowly unwound from his body and Stiles chuckled. If Derek didn't know any better, he'd swear the tree looked like it was apologising. He flicked his gaze to the rest of the pack, and was relieved to see they looked as dumbfounded as he felt. He turned back to Stiles in time to see his eyes glow. They were a sharp bronze colour, the shade made him think of autumn and the turning leaves. Stiles tilted his head and studied the mountain ash line in front of him, a smile tugging at the corners of his mouth. He held a hand out over it and flicked his wrist. Everyone gasped, and a few even backed up a step when the mountain ash flew into the air and funnelled itself back into the jar it had come from. Stiles grinned and looked up at the pack, eyes roving over them all, lingering on a few before coming to rest on Derek and Peter.

"Quite the welcoming party. Careful, a guy could get used to this." He winked at Peter and then turned his attention fully to Derek. "Well hey there, wolfman. Did you miss me?"

Derek whined and stepped forward, sweeping Stiles into a bone crushing hug; he buried his face in Stiles' neck and breathed deep, all he could smell was Stiles. No sickness, no pain, just  _Stiles._ Derek moving seemed to jolt the rest of the pack into motion and soon they were all clinging to each other, crying and laughing. Peter tried to slip away, but the Sheriff managed to get a hand around his arm and tugged him back in; he relented with a sigh, a smile threatening to form. They stood like that for a while, until a loud grumbling sound came from the middle of the group.

"Uh... I hate to be the guy that breaks up the party, but, I literally just came back to life and I am  _starving."_ The Sheriff laughed and pulled Stiles into another hug. "What do you say we go home, daddy-o?"

"I think that's the best idea you've ever had, kid."

They all turned to leave and were nearly out of the clearing when Stiles stopped, and turned back. They waited for him, watching him go up to the tree and place his hand beside a funny patch of bark that could almost look like a face if you squinted. A whisper was heard by the wolves.

"Thank you."

Stiles turned back towards the group, and for a moment he seemed to glow. Then the light shifted and he was just Stiles. He walked up and wrapped an arm around his father's waist.

"Let's go home."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And that's it! I may add an epilogue in future, but for now, I'm considering this finished. It was quite the effort and I'm actually super proud of myself. Thanks for everyone that made it this far


End file.
